


flints' spark

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drabble Collection, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-10 19:01:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7000747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weird little ditties strung together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. whirl - rhaegar t./lyanna s.

“For once, think of aught else than thine own self.” She holds her daughter’s hand, stopping the girl from running wild and free. The unasked question hangs heavy between them and the babe in her arms nuzzles closer to her.

The Stranger hangs back, hands folded in front of his chest, the cowl covering the entirety of his face. Rhaegar can feel the burning eyes on the side of his face. His skin burns hot beneath the accusing glare. His lady wife has no qualms. “Think of thy children.” The appeal falls now to his affections and she lets Rhaenys go.

The girl trots on unsteady feet until she’s standing in front of him, holding out her arms.

It’s an impossible choice.

“You can never return if you go,” the Stranger points out. He reaches out for his daughter, fingers splayed upon her dark hair, “You must choose, now. Hurry. Your Grace, hurry.” His eyes are upon Elia whose grimace is now clear.

He closes his eyes and pulls his hand back.

“Thou,” her voice shakes and trembles. But he’s already turned his back on them despite the wounds pulsing with pain and takes a step forth. “A plague on thee, monster!”

And then he’s in the tower.

It’s hardly possible for him to call to the girl, but he stands by her bedside, fingers ghosting against her fisted hand. There’s too much blood for him to even imagine that she’s long to go. But the midwife still urges her on. Her breath comes out in short gasps. Lyanna looks up and for a brief moment he thinks that she can see him. Her gaze unfocuses and hope breaks into shards.   

The shrill cry which follows is both relieving and heart-wrenching.

When her brother arrives, she is more than aware of him. Eddard Stark is the recipient of all her attention and the knife twists and turns, his fingers curling harder against her unfeeling fist. Her brother says something just as he looks up.

He pulls hard, mostly because her skin cools beneath his palm.

It’s just them after. The two of them in a dark, empty space, his arms wrapped around her as she struggles against his hold, not yet having come to grips with the separation.

“Why are you here?”

“To see you off.”

And he’ll stay.


	2. old harren - lyanna s.

Lyanna stood before the window, her head resting on her hands. The Dornish sun was merciless as it had ever been, burning whatever its rays touched. The young woman gave a long sigh. She turned to look at the wooden crib that had been placed in the shades. Her babe slept, obvious to the problems which she faced.

There were times when she didn’t quite know why she was here.

Nay, that was not true. Lyanna did know why. Just the reasoning behind her actions eluded her at times.

But if she thought about it – sat down and really thought about it – she could find some sort of logic. A naïve way of thinking at its best. A destructive force at its worst. Why hadn’t she chosen the safe path? Love and be silent. That was what she should have done. There were times when she hated herself for it. For not being strong enough to refuse what she’d had no business going after.

And then there were times when she felt that she had done right. At least for her. Should she have accepted a life she did not want when she had means of escaping it? Lyanna though a moment upon Robert. His smile. His blue eyes. His boldness. His paramours. His bastards. Why had she refused the man’s affections? Could she not have lived with her eyes closed? Ignoring the whispers, the seductive smiles, the double-meaning of every exchange.

Robert had loved her, he probably still did. He would marry her even as she was. Lyanna’s eyes were drawn again to the crib. It rocked gently. The babe slept on, unbothered by her gaze lingering. Robert loved her. But he hated Rhaegar just as much, if not doubly more. And her boy was half Rhaegar. In Elia’s children he’d seen only the Dragon’s blood. He would not see the Wolf in her child no matter how she pleaded. Lyanna knew she could demand that the guards take her back, but she would be a child murderer in that event. Worse still, a slayer of her own kin.

Did another life change anything? One more death to the others. Her father’s blood had spilled already, her brother’s blood too. A few more drops; what did it matter at this point? Better her than anyone else. Rhaenys had been stabbed over and over again. Aegon’s skull had been smashed to a wall. At least Lyanna would not give her child such a death. She would be careful. Other would show no such mercy, no such concern. They would treat the person she loved most like common trash. Lyanna could not allow that.

She could do nothing for others. But this she had the power to do.

Love was as deadly as any knife, the Northerner had learned. An embrace and a kiss, a whisper and a touch. Only poison could match love in the sweetness. A warm hold. Babes were fragile. It would be enough to let her darling sleep on her chest.

The door opened with a small sound. Ser Arthur stepped over the threshold. “My lady, have you thought about what you will write to them?”

Turning to the man, Lyanna frowned. “I will write nothing,” she told him decisively. “What can I say now? That I am sorry? That I wish to be taken back?”

“You could,” he replied ever placidly. Light purple eyes took in her appearance. “What other choice do you have?”

Death, she thought sharply. The moment passed. “I cannot. I will not. My babe,” she protested, taking a few steps towards him. “You yourself told me about Princess Elia’s children, Ser. You think to convince me of abandoning the only one that matters to me any longer.”

“And your brother?” Ser Dayne was the one to tell her hurtful truths. Lyanna wondered at the small twinge of hate.

“Ned.” The name felt strange on her lips. It had been so long since she’d spoken it. “Poor Ned.” Like words could wash away her own guilt. “He will do as he’s done until now. He’ll survive. No matter what, he’ll survive.” As if mere words could bring back together all that she’d broken. “Us Starks are tougher than we look.”

His smile seemed an agreement. “So you will not.” He too glanced towards the crib.

“Could I sail to Essos from here? Have I any chance?” Rhaegar hadn’t left money. So sure had her Prince been of his victory that he left her only a promise of his return. But Lyanna had some jewellery pieces. She could supposedly sell those and buy a place on a ship. “Would you come with me?”

Why would she ask him that? Ser Dayne, Ser Whent and Ser Hightower, they had been with her on this journey. She supposed it was habit by now to expect their presence. Still, they were sworn to the king. Whoever would take the Throne that was.

“Or will you return to King’s Landing?” Could these knights, friends of Rhaegar’s, disregard his death and turn to serve the man that killed him? A Kingsguard was sworn to the king. Should it matter he bore the name Baratheon, and not Targaryen? Lyanna waited for an answer.

“That depends on who the king is,” he responded. “As of now Westeros has two claimants to its throne. The Kingsguard can only serve one king.”

“What mean you?” Lyanna sat down, suddenly tired. She was ages older than she should have been. “Viserys? He has declared for the throne?” The boy would be killed.

“Nay, but you think those who support his House will not push him to it? Rhaegar is gone, his father is dead. The boy is next in line.” The explanation did little to assuage Lyanna’s anxiety. But it was the truth.

She hadn’t rightly know Rhaegar’s brother. And her own brother and father had died on the King’s order. Should the potential death of the boy not feel like retribution to her? Why then did she wish for his survival?

Perhaps because logic had fled her mind a long time ago.

*

_He rode past her, splattering mud on her skirts. Lyanna supposed she should have felt more than that flicker of irritation, yet she could only glare his way and give a decidedly unladylike snort. Robert Baratheon was not the most civil of beings._

_“You are entirely too harsh,” Brandon jokingly chided. “The man is in a hurry to join the melee.”_

_“You have no idea. At least you are not being wed to a troll.” Catelyn Tully was a lovely maiden. Whereas Robert, it did not bear comparison.”So, have you taken care of it?”_

_“Of course, my fair lady. Have I ever disappointed you?” Lyanna rolled her eyes at his childish display, but shook her head. “Then it is as you desire it.”_

_A sad smile crossed her lips. “Just because I despair at my fate does not mean I am to ignore the troubles of others.”_

_“What say you to his, boy?” Brandon asked, turning on his heel to the short squire following them._

_“The lady is most gracious,” the crannogman spoke. “I am thankful, Lady Stark. If ever I may be of use to you, but tell me so.”_

_Lyanna nodded her head.”I hope to see you at the feast, then. You may repay me by this.” She laughed gently at the blush on his face. “Come now, food and drink is hardly that bad an affair.”_

_“My lady, I wouldn’t dare. I am not worthy of such an honour.” Howland Reed was a sweet boy, about her own age._

_Lyanna had come upon him quite by accident. A few other squires had thought to make his life hard. But she would not stand for that. A man of her own land would not be treated thus. Not by those Southrons who were as stupid as they were useless._

_“For that I will see you in a seat at my father’s table. Benjen will see to it, I promise you.” Lyanna nodded to emphasis her words then looked around discreetly. “Are you sure this will end well, Brandon?”_

_“As well as any of our mischief ends. Now hush, see there, father and Ned are coming.” He narrowed his eyes onto the approaching figures. “Father! Brother! We thought you might have lost your way. I was just about to go searching.”_

_“Do not act smart with me, boy!” the Lord of Winterfell said gruffly. Their father was not one for jokes, but Brandon’s disposition was of a different kind. He would not let himself be brought down by a grimace. “How now, Lyanna. What happened to your dress?”_

_Having almost forgotten about the incident, Lyanna groaned. “Robert Baratheon happened.” She absolutely loathed the man. If only she could convince her father to choose another man for her to marry. Any other would do, she supposed. Any but Robert. She brushed the mud away to the best of her abilities but only managed to smear it._

_Another rider passed by them, this one holding a lance. Smiling indulgently at her father’s lapse in attention she allowed the moment to pass. The Lord of Winterfell could not be expected to concern himself with her dress. He was too busy reading the banners and making predictions. It was the prerogative of men. The she-wolf stepped behind her brother and next to Howland. She wondered what sort of silly competitions they would devise next._

_“My lady is skilled with a sword,” Howland told her quietly as her brother and her father discussed one thing or another._

_“Hardly that, you flatterer.” Her skills with a sword were basic. What she knew, Brandon had showed her when both she and Ned were still little children. But while her brother was allowed to develop his skills, Lyanna was required to sew and embroider. The task she did not dislike all that much, and she would have been happy enough to do it if only they’d allowed her to learn swordplay too. She hadn’t actually requested that they make a master of swordsmanship of her. Yet it would have been nice to know how to truly defend herself. Why it would have pleased her best to cut some of Robert’s inflated ego with those sharp edges._

_Knights protected ladies from thieves in the road. But who protected the lady against knights? Songs were all good and well, but Lyanna knew very well that Ser this and Lord that could hide behind a cunning smile fetid intentions. A bit like the Boltons whom everyone thought tamed. But like the North itself, the Norterners were yet untamed. At least the Starks knew how to give a man a clean death. Comparing the virtues of different houses proved a distraction. Lyanna almost missed the entrance she’d been waiting for._

_“There he is,” Lyanna whispered to Howland. “Does he not look magnificent?”_

_They took their seats in the stands and Lyanna admired the work of herself and her brother. Brandon was looking at her from his seat. They exchanged amused looks at the murmurs of the crowd. Even more so at the confusion of everyone’s faces._

_A knight with mismatched armour approached the stands atop his horse. His shield bore the image of a smiling heart tree. He bowed his head towards the nobles. Lyanna held back a giggle. She was enthralled with this small victory. She nodded to the knight. Standing to her feet, she gave him her favour to the surprise of her companions._

_“We of the North must stand together,” she said, more for the benefit of others than her own or the knight’s. “I wish you luck and good aim.”_

_“My lady,” he said, gallantly bowing once more, accepting her token. He tied it around the wooden rod of his lance. “My lords.” He rode away._

_The competitors took positions and were asked if they wished to speak. The mystery knight nodded. Like they had agreed upon he spoke of defending the honour of Howland Reed, his squire, injured by other squires. “This wrong will not go unanswered.”_

_And so they fought. Lyanna waited with bated breath for the first strike of the lance. They were wooden weapons, but if wielded correctly they could knock a man off his horse. Thankfully Brandon’s man was as good as his word for all that barely taller than her. The man hit his challenger fully in the chest knocking him down._

_Clapping enthusiastically Lyanna stood a little straighter in her seat._

_*_

_“Explain to me the meaning of this!” Robert bellowed in her father’s tend. “You refuse me your favour but you give it to some unknown ruffian?”_

_“I give my favour to whom it please me,” she replied acidly. “I do not have to explain myself to you. You forget yourself, Lord Baratheon.”_

_“Robert, it’s just a favour,” Ned interrupted, throwing a warning look at his sister._

_“Who is he?” the stag demands, eyes ablaze with fury. “Tell me his name, Lyanna, or I swear to the gods that-“_

_“You’ll what?” She ought not to challenge him thus, but Robert was too controlling for her liking. Grip the bird too tight and she’ll die. “You’ll what, my lord?”_

_“Enough, Lyanna!” Ned chided. “Robert, come-“_

_“Do not!” the other man growled. “Do not protect her, Ned!”_

_The implications were not lost on her. Lyanna’s face turned livid. She would have gladly plunged a sword through the oaf then. “I will not stand here and be insulted. I do not have to.”_

_“Mark my words, I will find out who he is!” Robert warned loudly._

_Far from listening to him Lyanna made her way out of the tent. She could not go to the stables, nor had the feast begun. So she would have to make do with a walk. Hopefully it would cool her temper. Hadn’t she seen a small grove not far away? There was still enough light for her to walk there and back._

_Making up her mind, the she-wolf trotted along the path, lost in her own thoughts. A pleasant breeze blew her hair in her face. After she’d spent so much time combing it. Dreadful. Not only had Robert destroyed her dress, he’d also ruined her hair. She would have to change out of this dress._

_She placed her hand on the rough bark of a tall tree, leaning against the trunk. “If I were the King, I would make it so a girl never had to marry unless she wanted to. It’s unfair,” she mussed out loud. “At the very least they should be allowed choice. Men!”_

_“One might point out that most men do not have a choice either,” a smooth voice replied from a few feet away. Lyanna bolted upright. She was faced with a man, tall and lean and handsome. Prince Rhaegar. “Marriages are business transactions, my lady. So perhaps the match your parents have in mind is apt to provide you a comfortable life.” He smiled._

_“Your Highness,” Lyanna murmured, falling in a hurried curtsy. “I am awfully sorry to have bothered you.”_

_“Not al all, my lady,” he said. “But what do you reply to this, I tell you men and women are equal in this.”_

_“Highness, I have three brothers. I should know that to men all women are much the same.” Brandon had proven it numerous times. Benjen tended to follow in his footsteps. And Eddard, sweet Eddard took after father. She expected a chastisement._

_Laughter filled the space between them. Not the boisterous kind of laughter, but a sign of genuine amusement. “And to some women all men are the same, my lady. I take it you are not of a mind with them?”_

_“Not I, Your Highness. I am sure there are wiser heads out there to agree. What need have they of a wilful girl’s agreement?” If he was surprised by her, the Prince did an excellent job of masking it. “I speak without myself again, Your Highness. Apologies.” She turned to leave, not being able to hold his gaze. There was something about those eyes._

_And he did nothing to stop her._

_*_

_“I thought you said it has been taken care of,” Lyanna says, her face pinched in irritation. “Brandon!”_

_“Lya!” he mocked her admonition. “You only have to give the man his coin. How hard could it be? He’ll ask you for a dance, you’ll accept and give him this. Then it’s over.”_

_*_

_Harrenhal was haunted. Lyanna snorted at the wild thought. The North had White Walkers and wights too. Just because someone’s screws had grown unloose did not mean that such things existed. There were no ghosts within the walls of Harrenhal. The she-wolf crept along the wall._

_This was ridiculous. Where was the man? She had to return soon or else father would notice her absence. Or Robert. Which of the two was worse, Lyanna honestly couldn’t tell._

_Squinting to get a better look, she noticed a door, wooden but thin. It was open. He must have entered there to seek shelter from the blowing wind. Smiling at her own goo luck, Lyanna hurriedly walked to the door. A golden light came from the entrance. He must have put on a fire. Gods, but he was thoughtful. Lyanna stepped in._

_To her surprise there was no one in the room. And no fire was lit. Had her eyes been playing tricks on her? She was not that tired, surely not. Shaking her head, Lyanna uttered a small curse under her breath. Behind her a sharp sound alerted of the door closing._

_Jumping around, Lyanna instinctively brought her fist to her pounding heart.”It is just the wind.” It must have been blowing very strong indeed. Right now she could see her breath. Hand it been this cold when she’d left?_

_Something clattered to the ground behind her. “Oh!” she screamed, unable to keep in her anxiety. Facing the source of the sound she saw something glinting on the straw covering the floor. Lyanna bent down from the wait, nearing the object with caution. She reached out for what looked to be a piece of painted wood. However a lot of the painting had been chipped off by fire. Lifting it up, Lyanna could make out the pinks and reds, the silhouette of a tree. A heart tree._

_Dropping it in fright the young woman fled to the door and pulled to open it. It would not budge. ”Is anyone there? Let me out!” she yelled, hoping to catch someone’s attention. It was for naught, of course. The servants were no longer outside to hear. No one was outside._

_Just her. And possibly the ghosts, the thought came unbidden. Lyanna brushed it off once more._

_She caught a flash of silver and turned. Some ghosts were more real than others._


	3. ira - lyanna s. and elia m.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 2014-12-05 [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1068884/chapters/6098612)

The slap cracks across unfeeling skin, the insult behind the gesture meant to sting. Lyanna looks at the other woman with tranquil eyes. Elia is shaking like a leaf, anger painting her delicate features. "How dare you stand before me?" Her black eyes spark with hatred. This is the loss of her children, the shame she has endured in her own home. "Cursed be the day my eyes landed on you."

"No doubt it already is," Lyanna replies, her smile nothing less than feral.

Elia grimaces at this response, her hands balling into fists. "You have taken everything from me!" she cries out. The recrimination shoots from her lips like a sword. But it still misses its target. Lyanna Stark merely acknowledges the accusation with a small nod. She further derides Elia by glancing at their host, impatience in her grey eyes.

"I have no apology to offer," she speaks, her gaze still on the Stranger. There is a fiendish gleam in her eyes. "What am I but a mere speck of dust? If it please Your Grace." And she lowers herself on her knees, all the way down, her skirts crushed. But then her insolent smile returns and the blood boils in Elia's veins. "I did what I thought best. And I accept whatever judgement you wish to pass upon me. But I will not beg forgiveness for my conscience asks it not of me."

The she-wolf stands to her feet and the Stranger touches her arm, wrapping skeletal fingers around it. "Enough."

"Enough," Lyanna agrees.

And Elia is left to wonder how in the seven hells this creature has managed to bleed her dry. But the ruler of the realm has spoken and here king is the Stranger. Crowned heads bow before him, for his is the power. So Elia must hold her tongue again.

"Your children await you," the Stranger speaks. A door opens and the sweet laughter of a girl reaches Elia's ears. "It is time for the dead to take their rightful place."

For Elia may have won back her children, but Lyanna has won something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am reposting this because screw the moral police who think they have the moral high-ground.

**Author's Note:**

> Short ficlets born out of ideas too mean to sustain an entire work. Will probably tackle more side- and minor-characters as I go. But I'll be up to my old tricks as well.
> 
> As always...my stance is the same.


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